Eggnog Shots: Harry Potter
by rainy-october-972
Summary: This is just a little mini-series of fluffy holiday-themed oneshots that I'm going to be doing (hopefully a new one every day) for the rest of December. Pairing recommendations absolutely accepted! My plan is to do a different pairing each day so even though it says it's Romione there will be other couples added later on. So yeah, I hope you enjoy
1. Orbs and Pillows: Romione

"For goodness' sake, Ron, couldn't you just carry it in?"

"Why should I?"

"This is dangerous, it's not going to end well…"

"Hey, you said yourself that Wingardium Leviosa was one of the most practical spells."

"Yes, but not in this context, with such a heavy subject!"

"Oh bloody hell, it's fine. I didn't see you complaining when I levitated that troll's club. Honestly, I swear it's okay, I have everythi- ow!" Ron cursed again as the bottom of the Christmas tree dealt him a solid blow to the back of the head.

Hermione shot him a reproving, what-did-I-tell-you look, trying to hold in a laugh at the sight of her husband under the revolving, floating tree that was now tipping forward dangerously. Grabbing her wand, she said it as she flicked upwards. "What did I tell you? What did I _just say…_" The tree stabilized immediately, and she sighed and guided it safely to the corner of the living room where it landed with a muffled _thump_, scattering pine needles across the newly-swept floor.

Ron straightened up, slightly pink around the ears. "Thanks. I mean – I had everything under control…if you just…" He trailed off, looking sheepishly at the tree that sat innocuously gazing back at him. "Right then. I s'pose we should get to decorating, yeah?"

Hermione held her stern expression in place for a few more seconds, then relaxed her face into a smile, one of Ron's favorites. "Yes, let's," she replied, stepping forward to give him a quick kiss. Ron's displeasure evaporated in an instant and he grinned as she turned around and began to search for the ornament box within the pile of cardboard boxes still waiting to be unpacked.

"Here they are! All right, you can get the lights –" she handed him a long string of luminous orbs – "and I'll put the carols on."

Ron, still grinning, turned his attention to the untangling of the lights. He had always been fond of the cheery Muggle Christmas carols of Hermione's upbringing, much preferring them over the ear-stabbing ballads by one Celestina Warbeck of which his mother so inexplicably fancied. He recited the Levitation Charm once more – a favorite spell of his as well, for reasons other than the practicality – and guided the lights onto the tree, where they drifted down gently and nestled deep into the thick boughs. Stepping back, he admired his work. They were all right, and Hermione wasn't likely to object even though a few hadn't made it completely into the tree and were hovering like lost sheep a couple inches away from the branches. Personally, he thought that this just added to the charm; they looked perfect. Unless…He had a sudden inspiration, and quickly racked his brains for a way that it might be able to work.

Moments later, "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" began to emanate from the kitchen, and Hermione emerged looking pleased. "There we go. Let's start – oh, these lights are _beautiful_, Ron."

She walked over to him, grasped his hand, and they stood there for a moment just gazing at the lights. Ron had enchanted them so that they were no longer warm yellow bulbs but bright, whitish blue orbs, a symbol they both recognized immediately and that sent the memory of a similar dark night, seemingly an entire lifetime away, immediately to the forefront of their thoughts.

"Did you use the Deluminator?" Hermione asked after a few minutes.

"Nah. Just a Color-Change Enchantment. Should last for a while. Do you want to keep it?"

"Oh yes." She beamed. "It's perfect."

"I agree." Ron squeezed her hand, then dropped it gently and leaned over the box of ornaments. "Okay, let's get this Christmas going, and a damn good one it's going to be too!"

"Ron!" Hermione was laughing. "Oh, all right," she said, reaching into the box as well. "Let's do it. Look – I nearly forgot about this ornament. And this one! Do you remember – "

"Of course I do."

As the sky deepened above the hill, darkness falling much faster than expected, the little house glowed with light, sounds of laughter and Christmas carols and good-natured teasing emanating from the cracks in the walls. The interior was transformed from a small, tidy living space into a collage of garlands and haphazard stacks of boxes and warm, comfortable chaos. After the decorating was deemed finished by Hermione and Ron nodded his quick assent – too busy looking at his glowing wife to pay attention to the décor at the moment – he fixed a fire in the stone fireplace and they sat together on the couch with dangerously full mugs, Hermione's containing tea and Ron's with butterbeer.

"Look at the tree, Ron."

"I am."

She hit his shoulder with a pillow. "No, you're not. You're staring at me again."

Ron was quick to return the gentle abuse. "Well, can you blame me? How could I not?"

Hermione giggled, a sound that sounded strange coming from the seemingly perpetually adult witch but at the same time sounded exactly right, in Ron's opinion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Obvious. You're beautiful, and you're mine. Any fool would take that opportunity to stare as much has possible.  
"Oh, don't start that again. Besides," she whispered, leaning in closer, "it's incorrect."

"Really. And what evidence do you have to support that?"

She grinned. "Because you're mine."

"Yeah, all right. You've got me there." He put his mug carefully on the coffeetable and reached out to take hers, putting it next to his. He then turned his head so that he was facing her directly and leaned in one more inch, closing the gap between them as he kissed her swiftly but softly, enthusiastically but gently. She responded with an equal level of enthusiasm if not more, pressing Ron against the back of the couch. Their limbs became entwined, and they only broke apart when it was apparent that they couldn't go on without air. Breathless, they looked at each other, smiling both shyly and ecstatically.

Hermione broke the silence. "So, our first Christmas in this house. It looks like it's been pretty damn good so far."

Ron tousled her hair. "I couldn't agree more. And I have a feeling it's only going to improve from here." Grinning, he reached for his mug again and took a large gulp. "What were you saying about the tree again?"

"Beautiful."

"Oh yes, completely."

"Really, though. It's already been a month and this already feels like home."

"Yeah."

"And Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"Me too. So much."

"You love you too?"

"Of course. It's my exceedingly good looks." She laughed, reaching for the

pillow, and Ron swiftly threw it out of her sight. She let out a cry of protest and lunged for it, but he pulled out his wand and Banished the offending object upstairs.

"You know I could just Accio it right back here and smack you upside the head."

"Yeah, you could. What's stopping you?" He smirked.

"Only your exceedingly good looks." She surrendered her aggression, leaning back to rest against his sturdy, warm chest, their heartbeats almost aligned.

"Okay, okay, I love you." He wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled closer with an adorable little sigh. "More than anything, because I'm yours."

"Good."

"Really, I do."

"I know."

"Merry Christmas, 'Mione."

"Merry Christmas, Ron."


	2. Scopes and Chips: Hinny

"Gin, come here a sec!" The voice comes from the inside of the study, and Ginny gets up from her chair with a smile, wondering what could possibly be going on this time.

"Yeah, what's up?" she says, entering after knocking lightly on the doorframe. Harry is sitting at his desk fiddling with some sort of contraption. He turns around and opens his mouth. "I don't –" Then he stops when he registers what Ginny is wearing. His face changes from overtired to confused, and Ginny can't help giggling as he struggles to form words.

"What?" she says innocently. "You wanted something?"

"You're – what – you weren't wearing that earlier, were you?" he finally gets out, managing to shift his eyes from the ruffled silver dress to his wife's amused face.

"You're observant today."

"You were?" Harry looks horrified. Ginny lets him believe that he really overlooked this outfit for a few seconds more before saying "No, honey. I just put it on. Dinner tonight, remember? You _do _remember?"

"Yeah, I – of course. Just...I haven't seen that one before."

"No, it's new." Ginny adjusts the shoulders a bit before looking back at Harry, who is obviously still confused or dazzled or just way too tired. "C'mon, what are you gaping at? It's not _that_ fancy. Just a silver dress. Ruffles. Look, it's even got long sleeves. Don't you like it?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry says again. "It looks nice," he finally says, smiling back at her. "I like it."

"Well, glad I have your approval," Ginny answers a bit teasingly. "Now what was it you wanted?"

"Oh yeah –" Harry shifts his attention back to the item now laying on his desk. "Do you think this is a good gift for James?"

Ginny sighs inwardly. This is the fifth time Harry has asked for gift approval. She stopped telling him to trust his instincts after the third, when he suggested a very, well, _racy_ Muggle magazine for Percy. (Of course, she's fairly certain that this was an attempt at humor, but she made a mental note to check all of the presents twice before sending them out.) She stoops over the desk to examine the small object. "What is it?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Harry admits, staring at it as well. "The package said it was a new version of Sneakoscope, so I was going to get it because he's so into playing good and bad wizards lately. But I'm not sure about these handles – " he points to a few things on the side of the device – "and it looks, well, a lot different than the ones I'm used to, so I was trying out a few charms on it…" He trails off, sighing. "Now it says it's safe and working and everything but I dunno if it's too complicated?"

Ginny considers the device thoughtfully. "Well, for starters," she says, "I'm sure that James could figure it out if you gave the manual to him; he's rather good with these new technology things, and anyway he probably has a friend or two who has one and could help him out. I think it would be fine. But you know," she added, "I think it would be equally as good, or even better, if you just gave him your old one, Harry. It would probably mean a lot to him, and you're right, the old version is much simpler to use. Besides, when it comes down to it, he's seven, Harry; he's not really going to care what it looks like, he'll care that you're giving him a real Sneakoscope."

"You think?" Harry scratched his head. "Yeah, that's true, I could just give him my old one…But are you sure? Mine isn't, well, it's not exactly the best quality. Sometimes goes haywire for no reason."

"You never know with Sneakoscopes," Ginny said, "and like I said, it doesn't matter to him. Hopefully he won't ever have use for a Sneakoscope anyway so…." She trails off as she thinks about that, and then tries not to think about it, because it's unbearable to think of her children growing up in a world where they would ever need to detect evil, although she knows that it can't be completely avoided. "So, yes, I think it's a brilliant gift, Harry."

"Really?" Her husband looks pleased, and Ginny can't help smiling at his enthusiasm. "Right, then. I'll go get it, and wrap it up – "

"Not so fast, honey," Ginny says, quickly barring him as he tries to slip out of the office. "Dinner, remember? We have to get everything ready. And _you_, sir, are not about to sit up here fiddling with toys and wrapping paper, not under my watch. You're helping out."

Harry groans and she rolls her eyes. "Come on, Harry. It's our turn to host and I want everything to look nice. Especially since Mum's somehow got it in her head that I never clean anything around here, just because I'm at the office most days…"

"All right, all right," Harry surrenders. "What do you want me to do? Cook anything?" As he says this, he suddenly looks apprehensive, obviously hoping that such a sacred task will be left to his unpracticed hands. "I could, uh, boil water –"

"No, of course not. I just need you to mind the kids while I cook. And straightening up might help. In here, too!" she adds as Harry nods, relieved.

"Why in here? They're not going to be in here!"

"Yeah, but it could use some straightening. Look at all of these papers!"

"Okay, fair. I'll get to it."

"Yes, you will," she answers, giving him a half-stern look. But he meets her gaze rather than getting to work, and she knows she's in trouble. She was never one for keeping straight faces. She holds up the staring contest for about two and a half seconds before she collapses, laughing. Harry joins in, and gives her a kiss square on the lips as she shrieks and tries to bat him away. "Stop it! I've got to get cooking!"

"Oh, and that's such an important thing, you should get going. Why aren't you?" he answers, smirking as he wraps his arms around her. "Come on, Gin, you really should go make that dinner."

Ginny struggles against his arms, and her force is formidable; Harry knows he can't trap her much longer. So he gives her another, longer kiss that she grudgingly returns before sighing and releasing her. "All right then, get to it."

Ginny gives him a playful smack and then ducks out of the office quickly before he can return the favor, taking a moment to straighten her dress before going down to the kitchen.

The Christmas dinner is an important event, and therefore requires all of her concentration and skill. Ginny isn't much of a cook – she's a bit better than Hermione but far worse than either Fleur or her mum – but she goes all out for this, beginning with roasted duck and working on about five side dishes at the same time. She doesn't worry about pudding; Molly insisted that she bring it, as usual. Ginny privately thinks that her mother misses being able to cook for nine people at once, so she always makes a point of asking her to contribute things because she knows that she'll probably spend the whole day preparing and have a distraction from the empty house.

As she fries up some peppered chips, a favorite of George's, she watches Harry in the sitting room; he has somehow coerced the kids to help him in cleaning house. James is putting books back up on the bookshelf, while Albus is very carefully straightening couch kitchens, and Harry is helping little Lily in putting her toys back in the bin. She smiles as she watches her husband – he's a natural with children, of course, and he's completely focused on the three of them. Lily finishes putting her toys away, and Harry gives her a hug and a high-five, saying something enthusiastically about their next task. It's just so adorable that Ginny can't resist. "Harry!" she calls, and he turns around. "Will you come here for a minute, hon, I need you to try these chips and tell me if they're done."

"Yeah, just a sec," he says. He whispers something to Lily, who giggles, and then says "Excellent work, boys, great job" to the other two as he makes his way over to the kitchen. He smiles at Ginny and tries to grab a chip from the pan, but she stops him, seizing his shirt and dragging him forward to kiss him strongly and lovingly. Harry is surprised at first but his lips quickly respond. After about a minute of this, he breaks away and says "What was that for?"

"You're my husband," she says, her eyes bright.

"And?"

"And you're the best husband on this planet."

"Oh," he says with a grin, "of course I am."

"Okay. You can go back to playing with the kids," she says, releasing him.

"Playing?" He pretends to be offended. "We're doing serious work over there, Gin. Very serious work indeed. I hear this is an important evening."

"Yes, it is," she replies. "Go on, then."

"Oh, those are great chips. Excellent job." Grinning, Harry gets in another quick kiss before ducking out of the kitchen.

Ginny turns back to the chips, which are thoroughly burned, and sighs. _Ah well, _she thinks to herself, sending the pan over to the trashcan to be emptied. _Chips aren't really that Christmassy, anyway. _


	3. Too Early: Nannah

"Hannah, guess what day it is?"

"Mm?" I roll over on my side to face Neville, who looks at this moment so like a puppy with wide eyes and an eager expression that I can't help but giggle. He, too busy being a puppy, doesn't notice.

"Guess what day it is?"

I smile. "Halloween? Valentine's day? Easter? Please tell."

"Christmas!" He gives me a kiss on the cheek that is as full of energy as he is and then drags me out of bed. I try to protest, but resistance is useless; he is strong and I am far too tired still to put up much of a fight. Still in my bathrobe, I reluctantly allow him to take me halfway downstairs, where the festivities await. He covers my eyes for a moment and I wait patiently until he finally removes his hands and says I can open up.

"Look, Hannah," he says, beaming. "What do you think?" He gestures to the room below us, obviously proud of his work.

I think I want to go back to bed, but I keep that thought inside my head. "It's wonderful," I say, something that is just as truthful but a little more appropriate. The main room of the Leaky Cauldron is adorned with all the holiday trimmings that could possibly be needed, plus a few more. Wreaths of ivy and mistletoe and pine are affixed to every surface, as are a wide array of holiday-colored ribbons and baubles, and it looks like Neville has even managed to hang bells on the ceiling every few feet, complete with real doves that have been forced into uncomfortable-looking neck ruffles. I laugh. "I like the birds."

He grins. "That was a fun one. You wouldn't believe how feisty they can be though. Look –" He rolls up his sleeve to show me a collection of scratches, some of which look deeper than others.

"Oh, Neville," I say. "You really didn't have to do that. I would have been fine with just the bells." But I pull him closer to me and stand on my tiptoes to give him another warm kiss. "Thank you. I mean it, I do like it. Did you do it all?"

"Of course," he answers. "It didn't even take as long as last year, only a couple of hours." I shudder, remembering last year, when Neville thought it would be a good idea to try and make it snow like the Hogwarts ceiling. A nice sentiment, but it left me scraping random clods of slush off the poor wooden floor for weeks.

"Where did you get all of the plants? They look so nice and fresh."

Neville puffs out his chest a little; I know how proud he is of anything involving plants. After all, he teaches Herbology now at Hogwarts, so it's obvious it's close to his heart. I think this is partly because of how we met – in Herbology class, at the same Fluttershy bush – although I never say that in case it seems too self-centered. "They are. Fresh from the forest. I had Rosmerta deliver them from behind the Three Broomsticks; they only just got here yesterday evening."

"Oh, was that the huge package you warned me not to look at?" I say, laughing. "I thought something was odd about that."

"Yep. Lucky I got there in time, too, you were all ready to open it, weren't you."

"Hey!" I elbow him in the ribs. "That's my job. If you were allowed to open every Christmas package that came through here, there would be absolutely no surprises for you – or for me for that matter, since you're absolutely rubbish at keeping those things quiet. And you know that that's one of your favorite parts."

"Yeah, true." He grins again, unable to hold in his excitement. "And speaking of which, shouldn't we be doing that right about now? Presents?"

I sigh and nod resignedly. "All right, all right. Give me a minute, though, Nev. I want to actually get dressed, unlike some people –" he looks down at his pinstriped pajamas and raises his hands innocently – "and you want breakfast, don't you?"

"Fair point." He nods. "All right then, I'll just go…uh…" He looks around, searching for something to do that can substitute for presents while he waits. "Read a book. Yeah. Or grade papers."

I chuckle. "No need to sound so bitter about it. It _is _your job, you know."

"Shh." He puts a finger to my lips. "Go make breakfast."

"And get dressed!" I call out as he retreats to his office. "I'm doing that too, and you can't stop me!"

I walk down to the kitchen and flick my wand at several things, starting up the stove and sending a cast-iron frying pan on top of it after it's been greased; I think I'll make pancakes and eggs today. And probably some bacon, I think as an afterthought, getting the ingredients out of the icebox. I think we may have had something similar to this last year, but I'm sure Neville won't mind; he's not one to be that picky about variety. As long as it's good food – which he swears all of mine is – then he's absolutely fine.

As I head back upstairs to the bedroom to find something decently festive to put on, I glance at the starry clock above the fireplace in the front room. Six-thirty. I groan, although I know that realistically this is the only time Neville and I can have Christmas to ourselves since we have several guests at the Cauldron today and breakfast for them is served precisely at nine. Sighing, I slip into dress robes, classy but also proper, and go back to the kitchen, where the pancakes have finished and the eggs are just beginning to crack themselves into the skillet. I add a pinch of pepper and salt and sit down at one of the tall, comfy bar stools to wait.

About fifteen minutes later, everything is ready and I call up to Neville, who bounds down the stairs in what must be less than two seconds, causing me to almost fall off the stool from laughing again. He ignores this, giving me a squeeze before getting up next to me, immediately beginning to eat. I elbow him. "Hey, what's the rush? It's not going to all disappear," I say.

He only grins at me. "I can't help it. It's good, and it's Christmas, and I am excited."

"What? Excited?" I feign surprise. "How could I have not realized this?"

"Be quiet," he says, elbowing me back so that I actually fall off the stool this time.

After about ten minutes of this – fake fighting and speed-eating and laughing – we're done, and I levitate the dishes over to the sink and say "Okay, let's go. Presents." He needs no more encouragement; he once again drags me off by the hands, clasping both of mine in his, fingers pressing tightly but also lovingly. I feel our wedding rings clash together and smile, for no real reason except us.

And when we get to the tree, adorned with silver and gold tinsel and bright twinkling lights and all the ornaments I forgot we owned, I make him stop for a second and pull him in for a hug. Of course, he doesn't resist, and we just stand there for a moment as I feel his lips in my hair and hear him whisper "Happy Christmas, Hannah. I think this one's going to be the best one yet."

"You say that every year," I say, giggling.

"And I'm always right, aren't I?"

"Quite right."


End file.
